Eternity
by uglyducklingdrabbles
Summary: The year is 1453, and Felicity Smoak is just the merchant's daughter. Her life changes, however, when an elixir makes her immortal, given to her after she falls deathly ill. After her recovery, she gives herself one goal: find and fall back in love with her one true love, Oliver Queen, who captured her heart 560 years previous.
1. When It Began

I pushed on the silver bar lying across the double doors. The entrance to the school hallway appeared. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a worn, folded piece of paper containing my schedule. Unfolding it, I glanced down at my locker number, "216" and my combination "30-4-10." The masses of teenagers made it almost impossible to reach my locker, which was blue, and exactly identical to the ones surrounding it. All these kids have something in common, I thought. They all have internal insecurities, or are constantly surrounded by an unlimited amount of friends. These people were not my crowd; then again, I never really considered myself part of any "crowd." This is not my first time going to high school, and it is not my first time pretending that I am actually remotely like these people.

I finally managed to reach my locker, and opening it, I memorized its insides: the tan interior, the two shelves lining the top, the endless amount of space residing on the bottom. I was a fairly organized person; I learned it served me better if I remained that way. All my notebooks and folders were color coded according to class, and my textbooks were in order of which classes I had when. After placing all my unwanted materials into my locker for my later classes, I stood on my feet and glanced around me. I zoned in on the conversations erupting; one girl was upset that she wasn't invited to someone's pool party; another girl was inviting friends to go shopping. I always assign the word "superficial" with high school girls, because of their immature, materialistic nature.

You're probably wondering why I even mentioned that, since I, myself, am a girl, currently in a high school hallway with high school level books in my locker and a wardrobe that helps me "fit in." I'm not a teenager. Technically, I'm not even an adult. I'm just…kind of in limbo, I guess you would say. To put it lightly, I've been eighteen for 560 years. I'm not a vampire; I have read Twilight, and afterwards I burned it and cried hysterically. I'm not even considered "supernatural." I'm just immortal. I don't feed on human brains, and I don't spend my every waking minute longing for darkness.

In the year 1453, I became terribly ill; the doctor telling my parents there was no chance for my survival. My father was determined, however, to change that. He got in contact with a witch, who gave him an elixir to have me take every day. This elixir would eventually prolong my life for eternity, but my father did not realize my newfound immortality had an expiration date. After I was granted this sincere gift, I spent my days outside, taking in everything I could. That year was when I met him.

He was tall, with piercing blue eyes, and short, choppy, brown locks. He was the mayor's son. He would always come into town with his father to run errands and prescribe business deals. I saw him every day, mulling around behind his father, head down, and his arms crossed. He stood in this stance frequently, as if he did not have enough courage to look the commoners in the eyes. He was very intriguing to me. I constantly imagined why he appeared externally rough and broken. The first time he ever spoke to me contained another particular and ever so familiar visit from the mayor. His father asked him to grab some flour, and fresh vegetables from the various carts around the town square. I was standing behind the vegetable cart with my mother, who, whenever "strapping young men who needed a female counterpart" came by, she would pry, and pry, and pry them for information. It was always the same routine, until the mayor's son stopped by our cart.

"Sweetheart, look who's coming this way!" she had said, setting down a zucchini and placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Mother, he's just buying vegetables. Please don't amount this to anything." I looked down at my hands; they held a dishcloth and a squash, which I was cleaning off at a sloth's pace.

"It won't hurt to try. Now, smile. And remember to just be yourself." I opened my mouth to protest, but instead she just smiled and proceeded to the back of the cart, where she demonstrated a new gesture of turning her back, rather than prying.

He walked up to the cart, locked eyes with mine, and suddenly, for the first time, saw him smile. We stood that way for what felt like minutes, when in reality it was mere seconds.

"Good day, miss." He delicately grabbed a cucumber and examined it. "I need some vegetables. My father and I are running low on some things."

I found it hard to muster any words. The intriguing Oliver Queen was at my family's vegetable cart, and I couldn't even form a remotely coherent sentence. So, I decided to stick to one word answers. It was the safest option. "Okay." I managed to squeak out.

"I will take a dozen cucumbers, carrots…" He glanced at my hands, which still held the dishrag and the squash. I hadn't realized they still remained in my hands. "And that squash." He smiled again, and I felt my knees go weak.

"Okay." I nodded, and proceeded to gather his wishes.

I felt his eyes on mine; it wasn't a judgmental stare, but more quizzical, as if he were curious. I tried to pick up the pace for fear of any awkward silences.

"H-here you go." I tried to not look him in the eyes. It was hard, but I tried. I handed him a cloth bag with his desired ingredients. "Anything else?" This time I had to look at him. That stare was wiped away, and left was a chiseled face with delicate features.

He smiled bigger, and reached behind him, pulling out a scroll with a red ribbon wrapped around the center. "This might seem sudden, but I have this invitation to the king's ball; it says I require a plus one." He handed it to me, and I slowly took it from him. I undid the delicate, red bow, the scroll falling open like blinds. It was written in a fancy text, where the cursive was just barely legible upon the tan parchment. I tucked a lock of my blonde hair behind my ear. "I have been looking for someone to accompany me, and I haven't been successful…until now." He, again, reached into his coat and retrieved a money bag, the insides crawling with gold coins. He placed the velvet bag in front of me. "What do you say…?" He left the question hanging. I concluded he was asking my name.

"Felicity." I grabbed the money bag and looked inside; the thing was filled to the brim. "I can't accept this, sir."

"Please. It's my pleasure. Take it all. Think of it as a gift, along with the invitation." He started walking backwards, his eyes still locked on mine. "Send a telegram addressed to Oliver Queen with your answer." And with that, he was gone.


	2. Rewind and Fast-Forward

You don't know how many times I have sat in a history class. To me it felt pointless; I already knew every single piece of American History, because I lived through it all. Ask me anything. I can give you answers about the Civil War, the Stock Market Crash, and Pearl Harbor. This wasn't just with history, either. I have done proofs and solved parabolas forty times over. I have learned about genetics and the human brain more times than I can count. It's repetitive, and useless.

I use my classes for thinking; my thoughts usually roam to my past, and other lives that I have lived, and people I have met, and left. There was a reason why I was going through all this again. It was because _**he**_ was here, in Starling City, where he had a second chance to live.

The next day, I made my decision. I sat in my room, the curtains flowing from the wind gusting through the open window. I placed the roll of parchment in a pocket of my cloak, and walked to the stables. I have always felt that I could relate the best to horses. They always seemed to understand me, in some weird, animal sense. My favorite horse was Lila; she had a white coat that was shiny from head to hoof and her gray mane and tail flowed with every canter. I attached her saddle, and then mounted her, placing the hood of my floral cloak upon my head. With one kick, we were off.

It took twenty minutes to reach the mayor's mansion. It was entirely white stucco and brick, with arches and white picket fences surrounding the outside. Endless amounts of brush decorated the exterior. The courtyard was carved into the shape of a diamond, with a lustrous fountain in its center. I tied up Lila to the picket fence, and then trudged to the front door, my answer clutched firmly between my gloved hands. One knock was all it took for the mayor to emerge.

"Can I help you?" He asked in his deep, raspy voice. His gray beard moved with every spoken word.

"Hello, Mayor Queen." I bowed. "My name is Felicity Smoak. Your son bought vegetables from my family's cart yesterday in town. He gave me this," I removed the scroll from my other pocket, and then proceeded. "And he wanted me to give him an answer. Would you mind giving this to him for me?" I handed Mayor Queen the piece of parchment that contained my answer. It wasn't a telegram, as Oliver had wanted, but it felt more personal this way.

He opened it, and I watched as his eyes scanned the contents of the message. When he finished, he lowered the message, and looked back at me. "I'll make sure he gets it."

I smiled. "Thank you, sir. Good day." I turned, then walked back toward Lila, hopped on, and rode away.

The bell rang, which signified that I had five minutes to gather my senses before biology; which, by the way, I planned to sleep through. I walked out of the history classroom when I felt a tug. Looking up, I spotted him: tall, brown hair, blue eyes, standing by his locker talking to what appeared to be a football player because of his blue letterman jacket. I zoned in on their conversation:

"Oliver, come on. This is a once in a life time opportunity. It's not every day you get invited to Laurel Lance's pool party. This is a big deal, man." The letterman jacket clad football player leaned against his locker, his arms crossed over his muscular chest.

"I'm sorry, Tommy. You're going to have to count me out. I have a huge history project due next week that is worth thirty percent of my grade, and I can't screw it up. I'm going to have to take a rain check." Oliver was at his opened locker, shifting books and folders to and from his book bag.

Now was my chance. Not that I could come up with anything to say, but I had to start somewhere. Without even thinking, I found myself walking towards him, and tapping him on the shoulder.

"Oliver Queen?" I watched him turn around. His eyes scanned my face, and he had an expression that made me hopeful.

"D-do I know you?" His face was quizzical. It was the same exact expression he had used when we had first met.

"Um, no." I smiled, wanting so badly to answer yes, but knowing I couldn't. "My history teacher wanted me to meet some people, as it's my first day. She said I should ask you to help with your history project? …that it would be a way for me to get to know someone?" That was a lie. That was a big, fat lie. It was the only thing I could come up with. My eyes stayed locked on his. "My name's Megan." I have stuck to using a fake name since the twentieth century rolled around. It should be less of a danger if I stick with a fake name, at least until Oliver figures out the truth.

He looked back at Tommy, and then whipped his head back to look at my face. "Wow. That's…that's great. Tell her thank you. When do you want to meet?" At this point, his locker was closed, and he was just standing there, both of his feet placed firmly on the ground.

"How about after school? You're going to have to help me, because I'm not really sure where everything is."

"We can meet at my locker, and then head to the library. It's not too far from here." He flashed his warm, familiar smile.

I returned a smile. "That sounds perfect." I glanced over his shoulder at Tommy. "It was nice meeting you." I returned my gaze to Oliver. "And you. I'll see you after school." And with that, I was gone.


	3. Getting to Know You Again

Robert Queen walked out to the courtyard of his Starling City mansion. He spotted his son by the archery targets.

"Oliver? You have a letter." Oliver equipped his bow behind his back and walked towards his father, taking the letter in his leather clad hands.

His blue eyes scanned the parchment. A smile slowly grew. "She said yes." He looked at his father's face, which was forced and strewn into a scowl.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this, Oliver. She is nothing but a merchant's daughter."

Oliver folded the message and placed it in his back pocket. "She's different, father."

"You've barely known this girl twenty four hours. What makes you so sure she's different?" He crossed his arms over his leather vest.

"I just…have this feeling." Oliver retrieved his bow, and started shooting arrows at the target. Every arrow hit the board with a "thud", the sound becoming applicable to thunder.

"Well, you need to put your feelings aside and take someone who can help get you on the throne. You deserve to rule." Robert retrieved the frozen arrows from the archery target, handing them to his son. "You would make a wonderful king someday." He crossed his arms. "I know you've been watching this girl every time we've entered town, but you need to put those feelings to rest."

His shoulders hung, and his face crinkled into an everlasting scowl. "I am allowed to make my own decisions, father. It's my life, and it's my choice. End of discussion." Oliver shot one last arrow within the bout of his frustration, then with one swift movement, walked away, leaving his bewildered father in the distance, and a single arrow in the center of the target.

"So, what is this project about?"

We sat at a long, rectangular table, me sitting at the head, with Oliver on my left. He was clad in a green hoodie and worn, faded jeans. One converse clad foot was across his right leg, the other planted on the library carpet. He looked comfortable, and relaxed, something I had been dying to see from him back in our time together.

He flipped through the pages of his history book; back and forth, back and forth. "We're supposed to write a poem about our favorite historical event." He frowned. Internally I was laughing, because Oliver was never very good at poetry. It was his weakness; the one and only thing he wasn't perfect at.

"Okay. Let's start with the basics. What do you consider to be your favorite historical event?" I glanced down at his textbook, which was opened to a chapter on the fifteenth century.

"I don't really know. A lot of events are my favorite." At this point, his eyes were lingering on mine. "There's the Civil War, the Stock Market Crash, and Pearl Harbor. Even though they weren't the happiest…they were some of the most important."

I smiled. I lived through all those events, their memories burning holes in my mind. I crossed my arms over my chest. "Choose one that you think you can easily write a poem about. Something that you feel passionate about."

I watched as his eyes scanned the contents of his history textbook. They remained in an expression that caused me to laugh internally. He never lived through all these things, because he was asleep for most of them. His eyes stopped scanning the pages, and looked up at mine.

"I've got it. Here's my idea..."

The ballroom was vast; the walls were painted a vibrant gold, and portraits of various people adorned the walls in a neat formation. The stairs split and extended off to the left and right, and a single row was in the middle.. Hundreds of people were gathered inside: maidens and dukes, jesters and heirs. They all shared something in common, however. Their faces were covered with masks. It was entirely a masquerade. There was no recognizable face on any person in that ballroom; their faces were decorated with gaudy attachments.

My legs were walking me toward the head of the stairs. I lifted the black, lace mask that lay on my head, and placed it on my face, concealing my nose, and leaving my eyes and lips visible. I whispered my name to the court jester, who then proceeded to shout, "Presenting, Maiden Felicity Smoak, of Starling."

Suddenly, all eyes were on mine. I inhaled, exhaled, then willed myself to take my first step down the middle row of stairs. As I was walking down, I spotted him; he was in the center of the ballroom, a white mask adorning his features. I reached the floor, and found him walking towards me, hand extended.

"May I have this dance?" He bowed, his hand still outstretched toward me. I took it, and curtseyed.

"It would be my pleasure." With that, we proceeded into position, and started to dance.

. ₪

"That's brilliant, Oliver. Really. You are going to ace this project, I know it." After spending twenty minutes explaining his idea for his project, we had finally come to the end.

"You think so?" He smiled. Both of his feet were now planted on the ground, and he was leaning towards the table, his textbook still opened to the chapter on the fifthteenth century.

"Of course. You seem like a really smart kid, and after that idea you just shared with me, heck... you're definitely going to get an A."


End file.
